


I Kissed You (As the Stars Were Falling)

by dornfelder



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M, season eight finale spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 01:12:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dornfelder/pseuds/dornfelder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What the title says</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Kissed You (As the Stars Were Falling)

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Я буду целовать тебя, пока падают звезды](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3799546) by [Savarna_Scaramouche](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savarna_Scaramouche/pseuds/Savarna_Scaramouche)



The angels are falling, all of them. It is heartbreaking, tragic, and beautiful beyond comparison, and Dean all but forgets about it the minute he turns his head to watch Sam. 

Sam looks like crap, face bloody and ashen; he stinks of old sweat and dirt, and he’s blessedly, miraculously, alive. 

Dean forgets about Cas – has he fallen as well? Has he been killed by Metatron? – and forgets about Crowley – still a demon, but infused with Sam’s blood, what does that mean? – because everything that matters is how Sam looks at him, that there’s no trace of the resigned weariness on his face that Dean has come to dread, these past weeks. Not only that. It almost seems as if the last ten years have been wiped out of Sam’s eyes. Anger, bitterness, even his usual annoyance, it’s all gone. Dean reads regret in them, and the strain from the ordeal he went through, but mostly he reads love. 

Love, acceptance, and maybe even a little of the awe that Dean only remembers from his early teens, when Sam still looked up to him as if Dean was a hero, when he thought Dean had all the answers, convinced Dean would not let him down.

“Sam. Sammy,” Dean says, voice embarrassingly hoarse with feeling. 

Sam smiles at him, just a little quirk of his mouth, strained but sincere. Dean can see every wrinkle at the corner of his mouth, the crow’s feet around his eyes, every trace of the years that have passed since they were dumb little kids, only a little less fucked-up then they are now. It is all written on Sam’s face, etched in his features, everything he went through. 

It doesn’t matter one bit, because his eyes have lost the dullness from before. They’re reflecting the lights of the falling stars, and all Dean thinks of is how grateful he is that Sam is alive, that he chose to stay with Dean. 

The angels may have lost heaven, but Dean has found his brother again. He leans forward to kiss Sam’s forehead, just once, because he can, because this is a chick-flick moment and he isn’t even ashamed to admit it.

Or so he thinks, until Sam lifts his head the very same moment and their mouths meet, a shaky, barely-there touch, a soft exhalation, a shared breath. 

For a second the world stops turning.

It starts spinning again as Sam’s head falls forward, touching Dean’s chest. Sam laughs, just a little. Dean’s heart starts beating fast and furious, and he doesn’t know, for a moment, whether to turn tail and run, or...

Sam’s hands grip his jacket. “Don’t freak out now,” he says. “Don’t freak out about this.” 

Dean nods once, although Sam cannot see it. He swallows around the lump in his throat, lifts a hand to put it on top of Sam’s head, fingers digging into Sam’s hair. It’s as grimy as it looks. Dean stares straight ahead at nothing, the free air, the tires of the Impala. Puts an arm around Sam’s shoulders cautiously.

What the fuck are they doing? What is happening? 

A meteor comes crashing from the sky right in front of them, breaking through the roof of the church, the slats cracking and splintering like plywood. They break apart, and Sam hisses as his head accidentally hits the hood of the impala. 

Dean scrambles to his feet. “What about Crowley?”

“I have no idea.”

Sam supports himself with a hand on the car, holds out a hand, and Dean pulls him to his feet. Sam sways for a moment, and Dean automatically steadies him with a hand on his shoulder. Their eyes meet briefly, before Dean gazes away.

“Dean,” Sam says. 

“Boys?” Crowley’s voice from inside the church calls out tentatively, “Moose? After you screwed up – _again_ , I hate to point that out – are you at least going to untie me? And tell me why the lady angel with the Margaret Thatcher hairdo came crashing through the roof?”

Dean takes a deep breath and straightens himself up. “Guess that means get back to business.”

“Dean,” Sam says with enough intent that Dean automatically turns his head to look at him.

It is a mistake. The moment their eyes meet again and lock, it is all right there, what they just did, the line they crossed, and if Dean ever had any illusion they might be able to just forget it and move on, it is immediately shattered by the palpable tension between them.

“Sam,” Dean says, a desperate, panicky attempt to re-establish boundaries before everything goes to shit. “Sammy, listen...”

Sam kisses him. 

It’s not a peck either. It’s a kiss by the book, a soft, sweet press of lips on lips, and a swipe of tongue that wets Dean’s lower lip and sends a jolt through him. 

“Fuck, Sam, what...”

Sam, who knows how to fight dirty, doesn’t bother to reply. He frames Dean’s head with both hands, tilts it to the side and fits their mouths together, making it real. Making it count.

 _Fuck this,_ Dean thinks, after a couple of heartbeats in stunned immobility, and starts kissing back, burying a hand in Sam’s hair to hold him in place, letting the other slide to where Sam’s heart beats steady and strong and just a little too fast in his chest. 

Whatever this is, it feels as if it’s been a long time coming. Running away from it, as much as Dean thinks he probably should, just isn’t an option. He can’t, and if he is being honest, he doesn’t want to.

 

(By the time they get to rescue Crowley from the vengeful angel kicking his ass, Dean has stubble burn all over his cheeks. He needs to readjust himself in his pants, which adds a whole new layer of awkward to dealing with the king of hell, or what’s left of him. 

He has also gone through denial, bypassed grief and depression altogether, and settled for acceptance. 

Bargaining, however, might become a thing. If Sam is ready to follow through, and as soon as he’s up to it. Dean is prepared to open the negotiation by offering blowjobs. He has a feeling Sam won’t say no.

They’re in this together. It feels more right than anything.)

**Author's Note:**

> This is pure nostalgia. But, truly, which Wincest shipper did not feel reminded of the good old times, watching the season finale?


End file.
